


3PM

by orphan_account



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Depression, Developing Relationship, Heartbreak, M/M, Past Kageyama Tobio/Hinata Shouyou, Past Relationship(s), Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-05-28 18:47:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6341023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a rough break-up, Kageyama tries in vain to move on with his life and play volleyball, but it's clear from the remarks of his teammates that he's not doing so well. Fearing the loss of his starter position, he decides that every day at 3PM he'll go running to clear his head before practice.</p><p>He never expected Ushijima Wakatoshi to happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A very small first chapter to set the tone for the rest of the story. It's more like a prologue actually. I didn't think I could fit anything else into this first piece without ruining the set-up.

“Tobio—Kageyama, I just can’t do it anymore, okay? I can’t be the one always making the effort to come see you, or instigating Skype calls … Listen, I understand you’re busy, but you’re hardly making any time for me, so how could I not meet someone new and fall in love with them? Someone who’ll appreciate me.”

All Tobio can do is sit in front of his computer in shock, staring at Hinata’s rather pixelated face because the connection is shoddy. There’s an unknown weight in his chest, so heavy and hot. He feels like he’ll break into pieces if he touches it.

“Hinata, I—”

“Don’t apologise Kageyama. I get it.” Hinata wipes a few stray tears from his cheeks, blinking at something above his computer. “It must really be nice to be able to play volleyball and get lost in it.”

Tobio’s heart constricts. He remembers when they were seventeen years old at the doctor’s office, when Hinata was told all that jumping he does puts a heavy strain on his legs. Remembers the way Hinata was told he couldn’t keep playing volleyball without seriously damaging his legs—especially his ankles.

The tears, the accidentally broken promise of ‘I’ll meet you at the top! We’ll play together forever!’ and the loss of Hinata’s dreams as he retires so prematurely from volleyball with the knowledge his reflexes did not come without a heavy cost—Tobio remembers it all.

“It’s just—seeing you, listening to your stories … it reminds me of what I’ve lost. And I can’t do that anymore.” Hinata sniffles, his voice thick with tears. “I’m the one with more free time, whilst you're playing volleyball, practicing ... You get to go live the dream I wanted too. But with Jun I don’t—I don’t have to remember that. I’m not the injured volleyball player who had to retire at seventeen. I’m just Hinata Shouyou; a university student hoping to obtain a diploma in sports therapy.”

Wrapping his arms around his stomach, Tobio wills himself not to cry. Or be sick. His insides are churning so badly he doesn’t know what it is he’ll do if he breaks now.

“I hope you can see my side of things,” says Hinata.

Tobio tries to answer him, but his voice cracks and breaks. He nods instead.

“Thank you, Kageyama,” says Hinata. “It means a lot to me that you’re accepting this so well.”

 _You’re breaking up with me_ , Tobio thinks, and finally his eyes start to burn with tears. It’s like there’s a hand around his throat, squeezing so tight, cutting off his airway. _We’ve been together for four years, how could I take this well?_

He slaps a hand over his mouth, chest heaving. Launching to his feet, vaguely aware that Hinata’s still talking, Tobio slams the laptop shut and runs to the bathroom.

He ends up vomiting _and_ crying after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a feeling people might've thought the break-up would be violent or something from the 'rough' in the summary, but that's not the case. Sometimes the most difficult break-ups are when one person is still in love but the other isn't, and there's nothing that can be done. You can't fix it because it isn't broken; it's just not wanted anymore. That's the case here.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you ready for this taste of Kageyama's mental state? I don't think you are.

Tobio takes a week off.

To say the coach isn’t pleased about this is an understatement; he tries to convince Tobio to stay, that he doesn’t need time off. But Tobio hardly has the energy to drag himself out of bed. He doesn’t want to get up, or eat, or train. All he wants is to sleep.

“I’ll be back on Monday,” Tobio promises. He’s so glad the coach can’t see him, because Tobio’s an utter wreck. “I just … I need to take a break for a bit. I’m not at a hundred percent.”

“Did you get injured?” Coach Yamada growls. “I’ve told you a hundred times that you can’t keep pushing yourself like that—”

“No, sir. I’ve kept to my word.” Tobio swallows, rubbing a hand over his face. “But I just need some time to think about some things and get over them. If I came into practice in the mind-set I’m in, I’d only drag down the team.”

There’s a pause, and then a heavy sigh that creates static over the line.

“Fine,” says Coach Yamada. “Fine, you can have a week off. But please sort through your problems before then, because we _need_ you at a hundred percent.”

“I will,” replies Tobio, even though he thinks it’s impossible to get over Hinata that quickly. Not after all this time. “Thank you, sir.”

He drops the phone onto the bed and hears it beep. Coach Yamada’s hung up. Tobio sighs and flops on his back. He rests hsi arms pillow above his head, staring up at the ceiling. He wants nothing more than to sink into this mattress and stop existing, because what’s the point anymore?

It doesn’t take long for him to fall asleep.

“I got it!” he shouts, darting across the court as the ball soars toward the net. He leaps, jumps, tosses it behind him to the right-wing spiker. Instead of hearing the slap of flesh against the ball, he hears it drop to the ground. “What the hell?”

He spins around to look for his team, but the court is empty. Already, his team have walked off the court. Faceless boys in white and blue uniforms, their backs turned to him.

 _We refuse to play with you,_ they tell him. _You’re nothing but a King of the Court._

“What are you doing?” Tobio demands. A thrill of fear sends shivers down his spine. They can’t be doing this to him now. “Come back, we still have a game to play!”

_No more King of the Court, no more King of the Court, no more King of the Court._

Nobody is speaking, but Tobio hears the whispers anyway like the hissing of a thousand snakes.

“Ka-ge- _ya_ -ma,” someone calls to Tobio in a chilling, sing-song voice. “Co-me to the be-nch. K _i-i-i-i-_ ng of the C- _ou-ou-ou-ou_ rt.”

“Nobody can spike those tosses!”

“Egocentric king!”

“We don’t want to play volleyball with you anymore!”

“Take him off the court, he’s useless!”

“Useless, useless!”

“King of the Court!”

“ _KING, KING, KING_!”

“But I can hit his tosses,” says a new and achingly familiar voice.

Tobio spins around and lets out a huge sigh of relief. “Hinata! You can hit my tosses—let’s show them!”

The opposing team on the other side of the court is gone. Tobio’s team and coach has disappeared as well. It’s just Hinata and Tobio, about to do their freak quick toss, and all is as it is meant to be.

A ball appears in Hinata’s hands; he throws it up above Tobio, who lifts his hands in preparation to toss. Hinata runs up, jumps, and then screams. Tobio spins around.

Hinata’s legs are breaking apart; bones snapping, protruding from the skin. Blood shoots out from the wounds, painting the court in puddles and speckles. Collapsing to the floor, Hinata watches as his legs twist around until his feet are backwards, his mouth hanging open in a silent scream.

“Hinata!” Tobio shrieks. He slips in the blood as he runs forward, falling to his hands and knees. “Hinata, oh my god, you need the hospital! What’s happening?”

“How could you do this to me, Kageyama?” Hinata whispers. When Tobio looks up, it’s to see Hinata glaring at him, seemingly unbothered by the mangled mess of his legs.

“What—what are you talking about?” Tobio swallows convulsively and looks away, unable to bear the sight of Hinata’s broken body. “You’re not making any sense. You need to go to the hospital—”

“You’re the one that broke me,” Hinata continues. “Look, you’ve even got my blood on your hands.”

Tobio holds his hands out to inspect them. They are covered in Hinata’s blood.

Screaming, he tries to wipe his hands off on his shorts but the blood won’t go away; his skin is permanently stained.

“No, no,” Tobio whispers, frantic. “No, this can’t be happening…”

“I’ll never get to play volleyball again because of you.” Hinata’s voice rises to an anguished shout. “ _You_ broke me, Kageyama! _You_ did it! I could have done it; I could have gone pro, but _you_ didn’t want that so _you_ broke me! It’s all _your_ fault!”

“No that’s not true!” Tobio shakes his head wildly. “I’ve always wanted to play side by side with you; I never would have broken your legs! You’re wrong!”

“I was wrong to put my trust in you!” Hinata screams, jabbing a finger at Tobio, who flinches like he’s been slapped. “ _You did this to me_!”

Tobio sits upright, a cry upon his lips. The blankets are twisted around him like a straitjacket, restricting movement. The sheets and his pillowcase are damp from sweat.

_It was a dream. It was only a dream._

“Are you sure about that?”

Jumping, Tobio grabs for the nearest object to throw at the intruder in his bedroom. That’s when he sees it; Hinata’s sitting on his blood-covered bed, holding himself up with his hands as his ruined and useless legs lie flat on the bed behind him. Hinata tilts his head and grins; a dribble of blood runs down his forehead and over his nose.

“ _NO_!”

Agony rockets up Tobio’s arm as he wakes up on the floor, left arm bent in an almost unnatural angle behind his body. Quickly, he rolls to the side and relieves the pressure, but his arm continues to ache. The world is dark outside his window. He must’ve slept for hours, although he still feels exhausted.

The dream has already started to fade from his memory, but he knows without a shadow of a doubt that it was a bad one. Probably worse than the nightmares he had in high school. Shakily, he untangles himself from the blankets and stands up.

After fixing his bed up, he pads out of the bedroom toward the bathroom. He’s all gross and sweaty and hopes that a shower will not only fix that but also the unsettling sensation in his gut that he can’t describe.

He turns the shower on and gets undressed as he waits for the water to heat up in the pipes. Catching sight of himself in the bathroom mirror, the first thing he notices is how pale he is, like he hasn’t been outside in weeks. There’s also a lost, hopeless look in his eyes, and he absolutely hates it. Hates what he’s been reduced to.

The shower succeeds in making him feel cleaner and more awake, but there’s still an unnatural heaviness in his bones, like the weight has been increased by ten percent.

Going back into the bedroom, he grabs his phone and checks for any new text messages or missed phone calls, and discovers that he has no notifications at all. Nobody has tried to get into contact with him, and why would they? The only person who had ever bothered to text him ‘just because’ was Hinata, and now—and now—

Tobio throws his phone aside and doesn’t care where it lands or if it breaks. It’s useless anyway if he has no one to talk to in the first place. Flopping face first on the bed, the sour smell of old sweat filling his nostrils, Tobio wishes the ceiling would fall in and crush him to death. There’s no point to anything anymore.

He spends the rest of the week lying in bed, remembering to eat only because of the vicious hunger pains and the reminder that as an athlete he can’t afford to lose track of his physical health and wellbeing. If he loses his health, he loses everything he has left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The stress dream was so hard to write, let me tell you. As someone with anxiety, I get a lot of those, and so as I was visualising it I almost started to panic.


	3. Chapter 3

“He’s totally off his game,” remarks Ishikawa during a break from practice. “What’s gotten into him? We’re gonna lose if he keeps this up.”

Wakatoshi nods his head but doesn’t say anything. It’s been a week since Kageyama’s random disappearance from practice and the vague explanation from the coach. It seems that Kageyama hasn’t overcome whatever kept him from practice in the first place, and it’s bringing down the team.

“S-someone should go t-talk to him,” stammers Yagami. “M-m-make sure h-he’s okay.”

Ishikawa storms up to Wakatoshi and claps him on the back. “If anyone should be the one to talk to Kageyama it’s _you_.”

Wakatoshi frowns. “Why are you nominating me?”

Ishikawa stares at Wakatoshi like he’s grown a second head.

“Because you’re the _captain_ , duh!” he says. “Who else is he gonna listen to?”

Sometimes Wakatoshi gets the idea that the rest of the team thinks Kageyama’s some delinquent who won’t listen to anyone but the coach and the captain. It seems that a reputation from junior high and high school extends even to university.

“For now,” he says, “we’ll just let him be.”

Yukimura rolls his eyes, pressing a fist to his forehead. “And what is that supposed to achieve? We lost the first set because he’s not tossing the ball right! At this rate, we’ll lose the game altogether.”

“Good thing it’s a practice match, then,” Wakatoshi tells him coolly. There’s something about Yukimura that never fails to tick Wakatoshi off. “We won’t be eliminated from a tournament and forced to return in disgrace. For now, we’ll just have to support Kageyama. Come in closer when you go to spike so he doesn’t have to toss the ball far. The ones that end up missing the most are cross-court tosses.”

The whistle blows, signalling the end of the break.

“Well, don’t start complaining when we end up losing,” Yukimura tells him, as they resume their positions on the court.

“I had no intention of ever doing so.”

As the second set resumes, Wakatoshi sees Kageyama trying to pull himself together. His tosses get a little more accurate now, and some of their teammates complaints die out as they quickly dominate the second set. But there’s something off about him still.

They win the second set.

“Kageyama, good job out there,” says Coach Yamada, even though there’s tension in the line of his jaw. “I want to give Takahashi a try, so we’re gonna switch you out for the last set. Once the third set starts, I want you to do your cool down stretches.”

Kageyama nods, frowning in displeasure, and takes a long drink from his water bottle. As the whistle blows and Wakatoshi runs onto the court with the rest of the starters, he glances back and sees Kageyama flop to the ground near one of the windows, far removed from the side of the court, and bury his head in his hands.

It unsettles Wakatoshi to see someone as strong-willed and resilient as Kageyama show such weakness on the court, and he can only imagine what Kageyama’s feeling right now. Right now, Kageyama’s far removed from the confidence and talent Wakatoshi knows he has, remembering the victory Karasuno had over Shiratorizawa when Kageyama, genius first year setter, was only fifteen.

It’s actually in the third set where the team struggles the most.

Takahashi hasn’t been given a lot of in-game training before. He’s in the same year as Kageyama and was quickly overshadowed by Kageyama’s talent.

The team isn’t used to Takahashi’s plays, and Takahashi himself grows frazzled with each ball he tosses. Despite their previous complaints, it’s plain to see that the team wishes Kageyama was back on the court.

They win the set and the game, but you wouldn’t know it thanks to Takahashi’s frantic apologies. It takes a lot of assurances to calm him down.

“Ushijima-senpai,” someone says behind Wakatoshi. He turns. Kageyama stands as tall as he possibly can, an air of determination surrounding him like a blanket. “Please spike some of my tosses. I am …” He pauses, grimacing, and tightens his hold on the ball in his hands. “I am not satisfied with my performance on the court.”

“What’s this?” Ishikawa saunters over and slings an arm over Kageyama’s shoulders. “Kageyama didn’t you already do your cool down stretches?”

“I’ll … I’ll do them again afterward.” Kageyama deflates like he’s a balloon someone slowly let the air out of. “But we lost the first set because of me. This could have been a straight win if I had been on top of my game.”

“Guess that’s what happens when you take a week off.” Ishikawa smirks.

Kageyama blushes and looks down. “Y-yeah maybe …”

There’s something about Kageyama’s demeanour that gives Wakatoshi very little motivation to deny him what he wants. He has a feeling that Kageyama needs this for more than just improving his tosses.

“I am okay with that,” says Wakatoshi, inclining his head. “Let’s start now.”

Ishikawa splutters indignantly. “You can’t do that now; the other team hasn’t cleared out yet!” He flaps his hands at Wakatoshi and Kageyama, trying to prevent them from walking out onto the court. The other team is in the middle of their cool down drills near the far edge of the court. “Wait until they’re gone.”

Wakatoshi sees the same impatience he feels flash across Kageyama’s face, but they both do as they’re told and wait for the other team to clear out of the gym. Once they’re gone, there’s no stopping Wakatoshi and Kageyama from walking back out. Wakatoshi vaguely hears the coach telling them not to overwork themselves.

Grabbing a ball from a nearby cart, Wakatoshi spins it around and around in his palms, appreciating the weight and feel of it as positions himself on the back line and waits for Kageyama to get into position near the net.

“Ready,” says Kageyama, raising his arms until his hands hover just over his face.

Wakatoshi throws the ball up and runs forward, watching as Kageyama shifts accordingly to get under the ball before he jumps. The toss soars into Wakatoshi’s spiking zone and he hits it with all his strength. When it hits the court, it’s like a gun has gone off. It reverberates throughout the room and leaves an echo even when the ball rolls away and bounces lightly off the wall.

When Wakatoshi glances around, he sees that most of the team has already gone. Now that the match is over there’s no real need for any of them to still be here. The coach has left the keys to the gym on the bench. Wakatoshi knows they can’t stay too long, despite that. He reckons about ten more of these and he’ll convince Kageyama that it’s enough.

For the most part, it doesn’t seem like there’s anything wrong with Kageyama now.

“It still doesn’t feel right,” says Kageyama, when Wakatoshi tells him as much. “Something isn’t working, but I don’t know what it is.”

“Ten more of these and then we must go,” Wakatoshi tells him. “Coach will murder us if we overdo it. Whatever you think you’re lacking, you’ll figure out what it is eventually.”

Kageyama grits his teeth in annoyance. “Y-yeah.”

But it’s the ninth toss that allows Wakatoshi a glimpse into what’s really bothering Kageyama so much.

As Wakatoshi’s running up the centre of the court, keeping his eyes on the ball as it falls into Kageyama’s palms, he sees Kageyama’s stance shift just slightly. He’s tenser than usual, but it also looks like he’s lost a bit of focus too. Wakatoshi can’t find the words to adequately describe what he’s seeing as it lasts for only a moment.

He jumps, swings his arm, but the ball is already bouncing off the antenna. In the blink of an eye—perhaps even quicker than that—the ball was in Kageyama’s hands and then across the court. Wakatoshi hadn’t even _seen_ it, convinced as he was that his timing was perfect until it wasn’t.

“Oh,” he says, perplexed. Just how fast can Kageyama set the ball? “I suppose that was my bad? I didn’t see your toss.”

“I’m—I’m sorry…”

“It’s no problem. Come on, last ball. But for my sake, try to toss it slower this time. There’s no point if I can’t see it.” Wakatoshi turns his back to Kageyama to retrieve the ball. He doesn’t manage to move his foot more than an inch before he hears a shout.

“No, don’t! I’m—I’m _sorry_!” Kageyama yells, desperate. “I don’t know what came over me, tossing that fast. I won’t do it again, so just— _don’t_!”

Wakatoshi turns back, brows furrowed. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t turn your back on me.” Kageyama wrings his hands, his face twisted into an expression of sheer anguish. “Don’t—just _don’t do it_!”

“Kageyama, I was only trying to pick up the ball. I’m not going anywhere, if that’s what you’re so worried about.” Wakatoshi gets the feeling he’s not seeing the entire picture, but only a small part of it. He’s missing the information needed to understand this situation in its entirety. “Please calm down.”

Kageyama’s not listening to him. His chest is heaving, but he’s unable to draw in a full breath because he’s panicking too much.

Wakatoshi holds out his hands, taking a step toward him. “You need to calm down before you start hyperventilating.”

“I’m—I’m sorry,” Kageyama chokes out. He spins around and sprints from the gym before Wakatoshi can stop him.

_What was that all about?_


	4. Chapter 4

Tobio bursts into his apartment. The door ricochets off the wall and hits him in the shoulder, knocking him off balance. Stumbling forward, he trips over one of his old trainers and falls to his knees. The door, caught on a breeze from an open window he forgot to shut, closes with a soft _snick_.

 _I can’t believe I did that,_ he thinks, on his hands and knees, staring sightlessly at the genkan floor. _I can’t believe I just … said that stuff to him._

One look at Ushijima’s back and Tobio had panicked, flashing back to that dream. Kitagawa, Hinata … Tobio doesn’t want Ushijima’s name to the list of people who’ve turned their backs on him and walked away.

_There’s no way I can show my face on the team now. I’m so embarrassed._

Somehow Tobio gets back to his feet and stumbles into the living room. Crawling onto the sofa, he curls up and buries his face in his lap, gripping his hair hard. He’s not going to move for the rest of the day.

What must Ushijima think of him now? Off the court, he probably won’t want to come anywhere near Tobio because he acted like such a freak.

When Tobio thinks back to that moment, he knows Ushijima was merely fetching the ball. Yet so many people have given Tobio a lasting impression of their back as they walked away from him for good that he’d give anything not to have that happen again.

Tobio had flipped out, and Ushijima had looked at him like he’d grown a second head. How humiliating.

The week off hasn’t done Tobio any good. It was stupid of him to think he could get over Hinata that quickly. When he walks out onto the court, he’s more aware than ever the lack of a small, red-headed boy with springs for legs and a voice like a foghorn. 

Despite still being able to play, Tobio doesn’t see himself as the ‘lucky one.’ If he were, Hinata would still be here. Yet again, Tobio’s ruined something incredible.

 _Let me die,_ he thinks miserably. _Just let me die._

 

* * *

 

When Tobio returns to the gym that evening for practice, he lingers outside, fiddling with the straps of his sports bag. Ushijima’s in there. What’s he going to say when Tobio walks in? What’s he going to _do_?

Ishikawa bounds down the narrow hallway lined with announcements, awards and photographs. He slaps Tobio’s back and Tobio jumps a mile in the air, choking on a sharp intake of breath.

“Whoa! What’s up with you?” Ishikawa laughs. “You’re tense as fuck! Stop standing out here uselessly and go in already.”

“I—I—actually, I don’t think I’ll—”

“If you’re thinking about running away and pretending to be sick, I’ll rat you out.” Ishikawa fixes Tobio with a severe glare. Tobio wilts. “You’ve already taken a week off. We can’t afford to have you leave for longer. I don’t care what your problem is, but you’re gonna have to figure out how to get over it without bringing it onto the court. You’ll drag the whole team down because you’re fixated on your own problems and not the game.”

Ishikawa steps behind Tobio and shoves him hard in the back. Caught off guard, Tobio trips and stumbles into the gym, catching himself before he falls over. When he stands up, he’s horrified to discover the entire team is watching him.

“Look who I caught loitering outside!” shouts Ishikawa. He ruffles Tobio’s hair playfully. “Now that we’re all here, let’s get started.”

Unwillingly, Tobio seeks out the one person he so desperately doesn’t want to find. His cheeks burn with shame when he finds Ushijima in the small crowd. He's staring right back at Tobio, unblinking. What’s even worse is that Ushijima’s face is a blank mask, making it impossible to tell what he’s thinking.

They run ten laps around the gym to warm up. Tobio runs at the back of the group near Yukimura, who has a penchant for slacking off in every aspect of the game. Ushijima, as captain, runs up front, leading the rest of the team. When they stop to stretch, Tobio chooses a place that’s as far away from Ushijima as he can possibly get.

“Alright,” shouts Coach Yamada, clapping his hands. “Ishikawa, Ushijima, Sanada, Okumura, I want two of you to pair up with Kageyama and Takahashi and practice your combos—more specifically your quick strikes. The rest of you are on receiving practice.” “U-um, Sanada-san, Ishikawa-san, will you partner with me?” Takahashi asks.

 _No! No, don’t pair me up with Ushijima—you take him!_ Tobio wants to yell, but he bites his lip into his mouth and keeps quiet.

Ishikawa shrugs nonchalantly. “Sure, why not?”

He and Sanada walk off to the far side of the court with Takahashi in tow, leaving Tobio with Okumura and Ushijima—the last person Tobio wants to see right now, much less interact with.

There are problems right from the start.

“That was sloppy!” Okumura shouts. “Any blocker worth their salt would’ve figured that one out and blocked me.”

Tobio knows he did a shoddy job setting that ball. However, he doesn’t apologise fast enough for Okumura’s liking, who goes stomping to the end of the court behind Ushijima, muttering under his breath.

 _Pull it together, come on,_ Tobio tells himself. _This is second-nature!_

But as Ushijima comes running up for the next toss, all Tobio can see is his previous quick flying straight past Ushijima, hitting the net. The ball never touched his fingers because Tobio set it too fast.

“What are you doing, you idiot?” Okumura shouts, scowling. “That was too slow!”

 _He managed to hit it and that’s all that matters_ , Tobio thinks.

“As much as I appreciate the extra time to spike, you need to set it faster than that so I don’t have to battle head-on with the blockers,” Ushijima tells Tobio, who flinches like he’s been struck. _Not good enough, it wasn’t good enough_. “This isn’t high school volleyball. The blockers at our level are intense and incredibly good at what they do, as you know. What worked back then won’t work now. I may not always have the power to break through a block when necessary.”

Throat oddly tight, Tobio lowers his gaze to the floor and nods. He wants to say something, wants to promise that he’ll try harder this time, but the words won’t come.

It's good that he didn't make that promise, though; as time goes on, he _doesn't_ get any better.

Okumura gives up with a disgusted groan and goes to join the Takahashi and the others.

Faced with his own ineptitude and his teammate's inability to continue putting up with it anymore, Tobio’s hands start trembling. The next toss ends up going wide.

Out of pity, Ishikawa comes to join Tobio's group. He’s a lot less openly critical than Okumura, but it’s clear he’s not happy with the way Tobio’s setting either.

Ishikawa and Ushijima make Tobio toss ten more times before they give up and tell him to go take a break.

“He’s stressed out,” Tobio hears Ishikawa telling Ushijima. “We’ve got a game on Saturday, but in this condition I don’t think he’ll be right to play.”

“I’ll have a chat with him after practice,” Ushijima promises. “Just hold off telling the coach about your concerns—and make sure Okumura doesn’t go running his mouth, either. I'll sort this out.”

“But we can’t have Kageyama going into a game in this condition,” Ishikawa replies, dragging a hand through his hair. “I understand that Takahashi isn’t ready to step out on the court as a substitute, but we can’t have Kageyama bringing his problems onto the court like this. Okumura was livid!”

 _They’re going to replace me,_ Tobio thinks hollowly. The water he drank sloshes around in his stomach, making him feel sick. _I’ve blown it. I did so badly they’re going to bench me. It’s the same thing all over again._

“When isn’t he?” Ushijima replies evenly. “We have a week until our next game. That’s long enough for Kageyama to pull himself together.”

“I dunno, man. He had a week off and he’s still no better for it.”

“You just keep working with Takahashi. Leave Kageyama to me.”

"If you think that's best, fine. I'll trust your judgement. But whatever you're planning better work, Ushijima."

 _Maybe it’s better this way. Maybe if they don’t put me on the court, they won’t have to turn their backs on me in the middle of a game. They won’t have to throw a match to show me once and for all just how much they don’t want to play alongside me._ Tobio cranes his head back, squeezing his eyes shut to stave off tears. _Why? Why does this keep happening to me?_

 

* * *

 

Armed with the knowledge that Ushijima wants to speak to him after practice, Tobio tries to leave as fast as he possibly can. Aligning with his terrible luck as of late, it doesn’t work. He reaches the doors at a pace that’s slightly less than a dead run, but somehow Ushijima still manages to see him.

“Yes, Ushijima-senpai?” Tobio asks politely, unable to pretend he never heard Ushijima calling out to him. “C-can I help you?”

“We need to talk,” says Ushijima in his usual monotone voice.

Despite the lack of inflection, Tobio shivers fearfully, wondering just what exactly Ushijima has to say to him. He nods. Better to get this over with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback/criticism/random squealing is love! 
> 
> I think for the moment the plot will progress mostly in Ushijima's chapters. Kageyama's basically stuck in a rut, unable to go anywhere. Ushijima's the hand that's held out to help him get back up again.
> 
> Also I did not pick up on the fact that I wrote Okumura resembling middle school Kageyama. I was formatting the chapter and when I read over his lines, I realised what I'd done. Interesting comparison, I guess.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for this being so late.

There’s not a lot of privacy to be had in a building like this, so Wakatoshi leads Kageyama to the men’s bathroom that’s down the hall and on the left hand side. He senses Kageyama’s anxiety as if it was a scent that stains the air.

Once they’re inside—entrance door locked to prevent someone from coming in—Wakatoshi says, “You’ve been off your game for a while now.”

“I-I know I have, but …” Kageyama heaves a great sigh and deflates. “There’s really nothing I can say that’ll be good enough.”

“You don’t have to have a good reason,” replies Wakatoshi. “Even the smallest, most inconsequential things have the power to throw us off our game. Whatever it is that’s burdening you, you have your chance now to get it out in the open and let it go.”

Kageyama blinks up at him, his eyes glistening. “I …” He shakes his head wildly. “No, no, I can’t, it’s too—I just can’t. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t care if it’s embarrassing.”

“Well, _I_ do.” Kageyama wipes away the tears from his eyes with the heels of his palms, so rough he exposes the pink underlid. “Listen, I’m sorry, I’ll do better—I’ll get better. But please, I just can’t tell you what’s wrong.”

“Why not?” Wakatoshi asks gently. “I will not judge you.”

“Because it’s too personal. I’m not comfortable sharing it with anyone. I’ll work through it on my own, promise, and next time we come in you won’t even recognise me, because I’ll be better by then.”

“You said roughly the same thing last time someone confronted you about this,” Wakatoshi points out. “I can’t trust that you’ll keep to your word this time.”

“I’m telling the truth!” Kageyama shouts.

Wakatoshi leans back, surprised. “There’s no need to shout, Kageyama.”

“What’ll you do if I suddenly, magically can’t get better, huh?” Kageyama continues, a franticness to his tone and posture that makes him seem almost manic. Whatever’s weighing him down, creating all this pressure, Wakatoshi’s questions has given that pressure the power to finally break him. “Are you going to throw me off the team?”

“What? Of course not—”

“Go ahead, walk away!” Kageyama screams. He’s not listening to a word Wakatoshi says. “I’m used to everyone leaving me eventually! Why don’t you walk away with all the others? Hell, why don’t you even call me ‘ _King_ ’ while you’re at it?”

“I don’t understand why you’re so upset right now, but you need to calm down—”

“I don’t need to do anything, not when you’re threatening to walk off on me like all the others—”

“Do not put words in my mouth, Kageyama. Nobody is walking away from you.”

“Yeah, right. I always convinced myself otherwise when people were still around, only for them to walk away—doing exactly the opposite of what they promised me they’d do. How can I believe you? You corner me in here—some kind of _stupid_ intervention—and then suddenly you tell me if I don’t get better, then—”

“If you don’t get better, you’ll be benched,” says Wakatoshi, “until you are ready, physically _and_ emotionally, to step back on the court again. Nobody is throwing you off the team, Kageyama, and nobody is going to walk away.”

“You say that now,” replies Kageyama hoarsely, swallowing convulsively as his eyes sparkle once more with unshed tears. The fight’s gone from him, yet Wakatoshi gets the feeling he’s missed something important yet again. “But we’ll know soon enough who was right and who was wrong.” He clears his throat, then sniffles thickly. “May I please go? I’ve got … I’ve gotta be somewhere.”

Although Wakatoshi wants to keep him there and force the truth out of him, he understands no good could ever come from such tactics. Wakatoshi would gain knowledge, but lose Kageyama’s trust.

Feeling defeated, Wakatoshi nods, and watches as Kageyama all but runs out of the bathroom, so desperate to leave he keeps running into the door as he opens it. When he finally manages to get out, Wakatoshi hears the loud slap of his feet on the concrete as he sprints away.

 _I can’t leave it like this_ , Wakatoshi thinks. _He may not be telling me because he doesn’t trust me. Perhaps it is because of his fear of abandonment? Because he fears that I will walk away ‘like everyone else’. I have to find a way to prove to him I’m not going anywhere, then I’ll be able to give him the help he needs._

But how should he go about doing that?

“How’d it go?” Ishikawa asks, when Wakatoshi re-enters the gym. He’s still doing his cool-down stretches. “I heard some shouting.”

“That was all on Kageyama’s part,” says Wakatoshi, sitting down. “He’s definitely upset about something—”

“Well, yeah, _duh_. Everyone can see that.”

Wakatoshi shoots him a baleful look, then dismisses the comment. “I’m going to help him … somehow.”

“And you want me to do something to help you help him, otherwise you wouldn’t have come back in here,” says Ishikawa. “What do you want me to do?”

“I need you to find Kageyama’s address for me,” says Wakatoshi.

“Whoa, you’re not gonna stalk the poor bastard, are you?”

“Only insofar as I can figure out his schedule and work my plan around that accordingly.”

Ishikawa bites his lip. “You don’t think that’s taking things a bit too far?”

“I’m worried about him,” admits Wakatoshi. “I feel like if I don’t do something—anything—he’ll fall off the rails and there won’t be anything we can do to stop it. He needs help, Ishikawa, and I’m prepared to do whatever it takes.”

“I—just—well, fine. I’ll get you the address, but don’t involve me in any of this crap unless it gets real serious, alright?”

“I won’t,” Wakatoshi promises. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, whatever man. If you’re gonna sit there, you might as well keep stretching too.” Ishikawa lowers his arm from above his head, then lifts the other one up, bending it so his hand rests just below his neck so he can pull on his elbow. “I’m not gonna have you sitting here staring at me like the little creep you are.”

Wakatoshi sighs and copies Ishikawa’s stretch. “I’m not a creep.”

“You say that like you weren’t just telling me you plan to stalk Kageyama for a while until you learn his routine,” says Ishikawa. He kicks Wakatoshi in the leg. “You are so totally a creep.”

“I am not!”

Ishikawa snickers.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I'm gonna try and get myself on a consistent writing schedule so updates may come more frequently, but I won't promise anything. Just know I will never give up on this story. Won't promise on the length increasing though; I'm loving the short chapters, instead of pushing to write longer ones.

There’s not a lot of privacy to be had in a building like this, so Wakatoshi leads Kageyama to the men’s bathroom that’s down the hall and on the left hand side. He senses Kageyama’s anxiety as if it was a scent that stains the air.

Once they’re inside—entrance door locked to prevent someone from coming in—Wakatoshi says, “You’ve been off your game for a while now.”

“I-I know I have, but …” Kageyama heaves a great sigh and deflates. “There’s really nothing I can say that’ll be good enough.”

“You don’t have to have a good reason,” replies Wakatoshi. “Even the smallest, most inconsequential things have the power to throw us off our game. Whatever it is that’s burdening you, you have your chance now to get it out in the open and let it go.”

Kageyama blinks up at him, his eyes glistening. “I …” He shakes his head wildly. “No, no, I can’t, it’s too—I just can’t. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t care if it’s embarrassing.”

“Well, _I_ do.” Kageyama wipes away the tears from his eyes with the heels of his palms, so rough he exposes the pink underlid. “Listen, I’m sorry, I’ll do better—I’ll _get_ better. But please, I just can’t tell you what’s wrong.”

“Why not?” Wakatoshi asks gently. “I will not judge you.”

“Because it’s too personal. I’m not comfortable sharing it with anyone. I’ll work through it on my own, promise, and next time we come in you won’t even recognise me, because I’ll be better by then.”

“Is this because you fear you might lose your starter position on the team should you admit that something’s wrong?” Wakatoshi questions. “That won’t be the case.”

“I—that’s not … I just can’t—” Kageyama presses his fingertips to his temples and squeezes his eyes shut, like he’s fighting off a headache. “I’ll get better, I promise.”

But Wakatoshi isn’t convinced, not when he stands here watching Kageyama desperately trying to hold himself together. It’s like his emotions are a broken dam, and he’s desperately trying to shove rocks into the holes to stop the gush of water that threatens to overtake everything—but it’s only a temporary fix. Something is definitely wrong, and he gets the feeling that Kageyama’s refusing to tell him what’s up simply because he doesn’t want to burden anyone else with his problems.

“Kageyama,” he begins again, “whatever it is that you’re not telling me is clearly having an effect on you. I think it would be best if you talked to someone—”

“No!” Kageyama shouts, and Wakatoshi rears back in surprise. Sucking in a sharp breath, Kageyama clenches his fists and says in a much quieter voice, “Thank you, but no. I don’t want to talk about it to anyone, because I can deal with it on my own. I appreciate the concern, but it isn’t necessary. If you’ll excuse me.”

Before Wakatoshi can stop him, Kageyama spins on his heels and marches from the bathroom, head bowed and fists clenched. His shoulder collides with the edge of the door as he walks out and he stumbles a bit before he steadies himself.

That conversation definitely could have gone better.

It’s another few minutes before Wakatoshi can even think to move from the spot in which he stands, but when he does, it’s because he’s come to a conclusion; he isn’t going to leave this alone. His instincts are screaming at him that he’s likely only just witnessing the start of Kageyama’s descent into depression—it’s the only thing he can call it—and Wakatoshi won’t let him sink further. Not if he could help it.

 

* * *

 

Wakatoshi manages to find the apartment that Kageyama lives in after two days trying to figure out how he’s meant to find the address.

But now that he stands out the front with his fist raised and ready to knock, his resolve starts to waver a little bit. He feels like a stalker, standing out here uninvited, hoping to see Kageyama. What’s he thinking, trying this?

At the last second, he loses his nerve and walks away. He’ll try again tomorrow, then. Maybe he won’t chicken out of it like this time. Hopefully.

But he doesn’t get too far away. Crossing the road to the other side, Wakatoshi shoves his hands into his pockets and walks back up the street in the direction he came from, and that’s when he sees it; Kageyama’s sprinting down the road like someone’s chasing after him.

Wakatoshi stops to watch.

As Kageyama’s dressed in workout gear, Wakatoshi surmises that he hasn’t gotten himself in trouble with the law and has merely been out for a jog—if one could call reckless sprinting a “jog” in the first place. He only stops when he gets to his front door.

Fumbling with his keys, Kageyama drops them. He bends forward, gasping for breath, and puts his hands on his knees. It takes a few minutes for him to regain his equilibrium and pick up his keys. When he does, Wakatoshi hears the door slam behind Kageyama even from this distance.

Still angry then? Or upset? In all likelihood, probably both; Kageyama hasn’t so much as glanced in Wakatoshi’s direction since their conversation in the bathroom.

Understanding that now is definitely not the best time to go and have a chat with Kageyama, Wakatoshi chooses not to go back over there and knock now that he knows there’s someone there to answer. He’ll definitely come back tomorrow.

 

* * *

 

It happens again, and then again, and then once more, at roughly the same time of day; three o’clock. Kageyama is either leaving for his reckless sprint or is coming back from it each time that Wakatoshi tries to show up at his doorstep.

 _He’s going to injure himself if he keeps this up,_ Wakatoshi thinks, as he watches Kageyama gasp for breath, almost on all fours. Nobody should run in such an irresponsible manner, especially if they’re an athlete. _I need to do something about this._

By the fifth day, which cemented the fact that this is definitely a routine he’s seeing, Wakatoshi comes up with a plan of action.


End file.
